How the mask was made
by ICRepresentative
Summary: Before she was the Disciple of Deceit, before she was hohei, before she had even worn a mask... This is the story of the heimin whose hunger for a destiny not her own almost unmade her, yet made her greater than any actress in Rokugan.
1. Ichi

**Copyright**: All credit for the world goes to the writers and publishers of L5R, but it wouldn't be right not to credit Phe for being an awesome GM.

**Author's note**: I created this character within the world of Rokugan, during a game run by Phe~. Though our actions during the game changed canon a bit, my character's backstory doesn't affect canon. Too much.

* * *

She climbed the stairs with some trepidation. Behind her, she could hear her family chatting and laughing, enjoying the brief respite from daily chores that her gempukku ceremony afforded them. Her father had even scraped enough zeni together to buy a bottle of sake, enough to share with everyone in the family. Her own cup had been filled, but she wouldn't be able to drink from it until she'd had the blessing of her grandfather. It was downstairs waiting for her, and, for a moment, she hesitated and wondered if she could merely pretend to have spoken to him, and return to the company of laughter and merriment to take that drink she needed so badly. But no, she couldn't. This was important.

The old man wasn't well, and his mind was failing. These days, you were lucky if he recognised you, or, better yet, was too comatose to respond. One of her older brothers, Kexing, had the misfortune of bringing grandfather his breakfast on a bad day: the old man had thrown the chamberpot at him, swearing and cursing about shadows and smoke.

The girl smoothed her hand over her kimono. It was new, a present for her gempukku, the finest, softest cotton she'd ever worn. It must have cost a fortune for her family. She really, really, didn't want to see her grandfather like that, especially not while she was wearing this wonderful gift from her parents. But she had little choice, kimono as an excuse or not. She had to speak to her grandfather, and gain his blessing for her gempukku.

She reached the sliding door and took a breath, then dropped into a bow. "I am sorry to intrude, grandfather. May I enter?"

There was no response from the other side of the door; the girl chewed her lip, nervously, then carefully pushed the screen aside, face pointed at the floor but her eyes tilted up to keep watch for flying chamberpots.

She saw her grandfather bundled up in his blanket, sitting with his back to her and his eyes turned out the window. Was he watching the stars? The moths fluttering around the lantern he had resting on the windowsill? Or was he just staring off into space?

The girl waited a moment, then shuffled quietly into the room. She could feel a sense of dread closing over her, the last thing she'd ever expected to feel on the day of her gempukku. It seemed unfair that she should be upstairs with misery when downstairs her brothers and sisters and mother and father were joking and singing and drinking…

Her thoughts were broken when her grandfather turned to look at her, head swivelling like a falcon's, his gaze just as sharp and piercing. The girl quickly dropped into a lower bow. She recognised the anger-madness, and breathed deep and lifted her head, ready to make her request before bolting back downstairs.

But before she could even speak, he'd moved. Her grandfather had flung aside the blanket and backed away from her, staring in wide-eyed… what? Horror? Awe? Relief?

"Saiyuri?" His old voice didn't sound so worn or tired anymore. "How… how did you find me?"

The girl didn't like the strange hungriness that was in her grandfather's eyes. "I am not Saiyuri," she murmured, uneasy.

Her grandfather shook his head, muttering something in denial, then fetched the lantern, swinging it dangerously close to the girl's face. She flinched back from the glare of the light, the moths, and the blow she was expecting, both hands up to protect herself. But she wasn't being struck. Just examined.

Her grandfather seemed disappointed. "You're not Saiyuri." He sighed, and sat back down. He set the lantern between them as he wrapped the blanket back around his shoulders.

"No, grandfather," the girl opted for a soft, calm voice, to prevent provoking the old man. "I am not."

A sliver of awareness shone in his eyes. "You… you're my granddaughter." As she nodded, he frowned, sucking on his lip thoughtfully. "Are you the youngest?"

"No, sir. Ke-ai is the youngest. She was born a few years ago." His memory was terrible at the best of times; the girl thought it best not mention too many details, in case he realised just how bad his mind was getting.

The intense falcon-gaze burned into her again. "Which one are you?"

She felt herself flushing, embarrassed, like she was on trial for some crime. Her eyes slipped to the floor for a second, then, bracing herself, she looked up and held his gaze. It was her gempukku; tonight, she was no longer a child. She wouldn't be shamed into quietness by a mad old man. "I am the fifth child."

The old man nodded to himself, but his eyes never left her face. He seemed disappointed, but yet so very relieved.

"Who is Saiyuri?"

She cursed herself the moment the words were out of her mouth. The old man had seemed like he was quieting down, but now there was a fire flaring up in his eyes that spoke of the anger-madness.

"Saiyuri? She…" The old man growled and rocked himself slightly. "No, not a word of her. You and your face, you poisonous beauty, take it away from me."

The girl refused to look away. "My face isn't poisonous, grandfather." It struck a chord, though. To be called beautiful, even by a mad old man like her grandfather… Something in her chest resonated; she felt taller. Stronger.

"You all say that at first," the old man wheezed, "But time proves you liars. Poisonous, proud, beautiful creatures." He shivered and hugged his bony knees. "She accused me right: _yowamushi_. Little cowardly bug. I failed them. Little bug. Poison face." He rocked himself, mumbling.

"Grandfather…" She hesitated, unsure of whether or not to interrupt his reverie. "Are you alright?"

He gave a bark of a laugh, and sanity returned to his eyes for a moment. "Oh, no, granddaughter. Not a word of that-of-me. It is best that death hang over the head of an old man, and not a lovely young doe like you." He tilted his head. "You're not bringing my dinner. Why are you here?"

She forced herself to press her lips into a smile, and bowed again. "Grandfather, I come to see you tonight, because I am no longer a child. Today is my gempukku. I would like your blessing."

The old man chewed on his lip; the silence dragged on for a long moment, and the girl was beginning to feel a crick in her neck from bowing as she was, but she didn't dare change position.

"Blessing," the old man muttered at last, getting to his feet and shuffling over to a chest of drawers. His arthritic joints cracked and popped as he searched for something. "I can give a blessing, yes…" He chuckled to himself, a dark and ominous sound from one so old.

The girl tilted her head, trying to see what he was looking for, but the glare of the lantern at this angle burned her vision, blinding her. She was forced to wait, forehead on the floor, for her grandfather to return.

"_Saa_," the old man sat down opposite her, an old lacquer box in his lap. "What gifts have you received for your gempukku?"

The girl sat up, smoothing her hands over the cloth covering her thighs. "I have received this kimono. And a cup filled with sake. Both are gifts I am honoured to accept."

"Is that all?" The old man looked surprised a moment, then nodded, slowly, as though remembering something. "Ah, yes. Of course. A peasant's gempukku."

She felt her face growing warm, a sense of anger rising in her. "There is no shame in that."

He looked bitter, and gripped the box with both hands as though he feared it would fly from him. "Only because you don't know what shame is, little doe." He gave a bitter laugh. "You carry it with you all the days of your life. It rots your bones, and poisons your mind, and every shadow is an old friend come to disapprove or take their revenge…"

The girl glanced towards the door, thinking to leave now before his ranting got any darker or stranger.

"No, don't go yet, little doe." Her grandfather fumbled with the lock on the box. "I have a blessing to give you, one better than a little robe or a glass of sake. The granddaughter of a Bayushi deserves better," he muttered to himself, as the lock continued to trouble his knuckled hands.

The girl felt her whole body go numb. _Bayushi?_ It was a terrible thing to come to realise that you were not born to a peasant-merchant line, but from the blood of a ronin. But just as horrible, if not more so, was to realise that the name once worn by the old man - her own grandfather - was that of the Emperor's Underhand.

"You're a Scorpion," she breathed, feeling faint with terror.

The old man focused his intense gaze on her again. "No. Not anymore. Ronin. Coward. Fled. Hid, and remained hidden." He gave a small grunt of satisfaction as the lock finally opened. "But my legacy is following me; you wear the Bayushi face, little doe. The blood of the clan can't be hidden." He looked at her, afraid, as though the poison he saw in her face would be the very reason for his death. Then the slyness crept back in. "You need a new face; you deserve one. It is, after all, your gempukku."

She looked down at the box that was being pushed towards her. She opened it as though she expected it to bite her, and peeled apart the yellowing strips of linen and paper within, unwrapping her grandfather's blessing. What she saw made her catch her breath yet again.

A face was looking back at her from the inside of that box. A beautiful porcelain mask. It lacked any and all colour, and the only decoration were a few thin black lines to denote the eyebrows, the cheeks, the lips. It was a human face, but not. She had never seen a ghost before, but the girl knew in that moment exactly what one would look like if she ever saw one.

"Let me see you wear it, little doe," her grandfather said, sitting forward with that strange hunger on his face.

With trembling hands, the girl reached into the box and picked up the mask. It was lighter than she thought it would be, and yet the weight of a legacy was on it. She turned it, and gasped again; the binding ribbons and inside of the mask was a red material, a brilliant rich sheen. She touched it with her fingers. Silk. Blood-red silk.

She looked at her grandfather, wanting to object, but she saw the anger-madness in his eyes, and couldn't find the voice to object. So she buried her face in the silk and porcelain embrace of the mask, keeping her eyes closed as she bound the ribbon behind her head.

"It fits perfectly," her grandfather breathes, awed.

The girl opened her eyes. The mask should have felt like a cage, and her vision and ability to breathe should have been hindered. But her grandfather was right. It fit perfectly… like a new face.

Her grandfather chuckled to himself, that same dark sound. "Oh, Saiyuri, look at this. Look at my granddaughter. She has the dangerous Bayushi face, and now a _kamen_ to make her even more beautiful. She would have been your biggest rival. But you won't have her, you poisonous bitch!" He threw back his head and laughed. "You don't even know her name!"

"Tell me who Saiyuri is."

The mouthpiece of the mask - perhaps even the mask itself - gave her word an iciness, a coldness, an undeniable authority. She hadn't meant to frighten her grandfather into silence, but before she could apologise, he bowed to her. She said nothing, but found herself savouring the feeling of power for a brief moment.

"She was my sister," the old man said, picking up the blanket and wrapping himself tightly in it, shivering. "A darling of the court. My father's pride, my mother's joy. She outshone me, eclipsed me, in all things." He sighed, staring off into space. "Through all the arts, I was lucky if I ever found myself coming second, or even third. She was trusted to her duty, and excel at it. But despite my failings, I was still the son of my father. It would not be… seemly… for the son of a great lord to be so inept."

The girl found herself leaning forward, drinking in every word. In her mind was spinning visions of the courts, and she imagined her grandfather, much younger, walking through the hallways and rooms of the places where the Scorpion's reach was found. Everyone was wearing rich blood-red silk kimonos, and the air was thick with incense and intrigue. It was beautiful. Intoxicating.

"I was given simple tasks," the old man continued, holding up a finger, interrupting the girl's hungry daydreaming. "Ones that drew on my abilities, rather than tested them. But I was sick of being my sister's shadow. I faced her, challenging her, in front of my father and mother." His eyes narrowed with the memory, still angry and jealous even now. "A test of blood and guile. She mocked me, laughing. Said I had no right to do so, let alone the balls to go through with what I had proposed. And she left me, simmering and humiliated and knowing she was _right_." He bowed his head. "I could not live with the shame."

"So you fled." Again, the words came out colder, crueller, than the girl intended.

"I fled," the old man nodded, all the past bleeding out of him as he returned to being the old man wrapped in a rough blanket, living in fear and madness in a small peasant village. "I was _yowamushi_, after all." He looked at the girl, and smiled. "But you are no coward. You wear that face better than even _she_ ever could."

There was a strange tone to his words, almost like the words of a spell. The weave of a net, or a noose. The girl felt it, and licked her lips behind the porcelain and silk, suddenly nervous. "I… I should return to my father and mother. They will be waiting to hear you have given me your blessing."

"_Sou_." He pointed to the box. "Hide your face, little doe." He watched, stoic, as the girl fumbled with the ribbon and set the mask reverently back into the box. As she bowed to him, he placed a hand on her head. "Listen, girl: mark my words. You are the granddaughter of a Bayushi, the greatest of all the Scorpion. The namesake of the Emperor's own guardian. You leave behind your childhood tonight, and become an adult. You have a birthright to claim, and, with it, a destiny." He paused, glancing towards the open window, then back again. "Will you claim it? Or will you be a cowardly little bug like your grandfather?"

"I am no coward," came the reply.

The old man smiled at the vehemence in the girl's voice, and sat back to nod to himself, muttering nonsense as the madness rolled back into his mind like clouds over the moon.

The girl left the room and climbed slowly back down the stairs, mind buzzing with what she'd been told. She touched her face, remembering the soft embrace of the silk. For a moment, she hadn't been a peasant, hadn't been a merchant's daughter. For a moment, she'd been a courtier: a rich noble woman in a palace, perhaps even the palace of the emperor himself. It was what she would have been. It was what it was her destiny to reclaim.

She forced herself to focus on the present as her family welcomed her back into their tiny living room, and the cup of sake was placed in her hands. Her younger brother was asking if she had picked her gempukku name yet.

"Yes," the girl nodded, as she stared at her reflection in the sake, noting now the beauty that she had never noticed before. Seeing, for the first time, that her face was not the face of a Unicorn peasant, but that of a deadly beauty. A Bayushi… but not a Bayushi.

"What is it, then?"

"_Bu_," she murmured as she readied herself to drain the cup, "_Bu Keneng_."

Her family laughed at the pun - the depth of which they didn't realise they didn't understand - and at the girl's coughing and spluttering over the potent alcohol.


	2. Ni

**Credit**: All credit goes to the writers and creators of the world of L5R, and to Phe for GMing a fantastic session.

**Author's note**: Considering I originally created Keneng for an Oriental Adventures 3.5 game, a lot about her draws on the aspects of Chinese culture I was immersed in while I was in Singapore. I've re-created/re-envisioned her for the Japanese-centric world of Legend of the Five Rings, though a few remnants remain… Given where she's growing up, though, I don't think it's that much of a problem.

* * *

The day after her gempukku was supposed to be a day like any other. A day free of ceremony, and filled with the usual toil and work. But for Keneng, it felt like a fog had washed across Mura nisa Kawa Nemui. The little village felt indistinct, like the lines and colours on a decorative scroll. It was there, but merely as an impression; she knew it was there - she knew the whole world was around her - but it was not something she could focus on.

She attacked a clump of grass once with her bamboo switch, a distracted gesture born of impatience. By the banks of the Sleeping River, where she had come so many times to think and be calmed by its great expanse, she now realised how small her world was. How small it was, compared to how grand it should have been. She had never known dissatisfaction before. It was eating at her.

The ducks she was supposed to be watching sensed Keneng's distracted mindset, and stayed nearby. Contrary to their usual bold behaviour that normally saw them testing the girl's patience and observatory skills, the birds seemed to instinctively know that, this time, they wouldn't be found or retrieved if they wandered too far. They knew their guardian wasn't doing her job, and were worried.

Keneng didn't notice or care about the ducks. Her thoughts were in a world of silk, where gold was so close it was used as an ornament, and silver so common that it wasn't used at all. With the shadows growing long and the air getting chill, she noted with distaste the mud on the ground, the sound of some distant forge, and the distant smell of the horses grazing in the fields.

Ducks. Horses. Filth. Mud. She gave the clump of grass another savage swipe with the switch, then looked back up the road towards the house. The second-floor window was lit; her grandfather had the lantern pointed out to the east, where the darkness was thickest now that the sun was setting. She studied the sight a moment, thoughtful. Was the light a signal? Or the last hope of a cowardly old man, one small lantern to fight off the encroaching dark?

"_Wei-wei_," Keneng stood up, waving her arms to get the ducks moving, "_Kaeru-kaeru_." She barely noticed the birds hurry into line and move at a swift waddle back towards their pen; it was the first time in her life she hadn't needed to chase after stragglers or use the switch to get them in line.

But the ducks were just in the background to her. All she was interested in was the old man with the lantern, and what he could tell her of how she could claim this destiny she craved.

* * *

The next few days passed in some kind of haze. During the daylight hours, she would do her chores listlessly, completing tasks between bouts of daydreaming and sullenness. But every evening - as well as in every stolen moment between meals and breaks from the hard work of daily life - she stole up to her grandfather's room, to hear him speak and drink in every word. Sometimes it was mere babble, strings of words and phrases that made no sense except to an old man whose mind was half-gone. But whenever the girl had the mask on, her grandfather seemed sharper, more alert, and able to spin out the tales of wealth and grandeur that she so badly wanted to hear.

She was too desperate and greedy to notice she was being groomed to fill the void her grandfather had left behind him, to be the one to atone for his sins. And he was too senile and cowardly to realise he was being bullied into revealing more than he ever intended, that he was letting himself be commanded by Keneng the same way Saiyuri had commanded him, when he was still a Bayushi's son.

Keneng didn't tell her grandfather how increasingly caged she felt, or how she was finding fault with everything now that she knew it wasn't hers; likewise, Hide didn't tell his granddaughter that the mask she was wearing was one he had stolen from his sister before he had fled. Keneng never knew that the sight of the mask on his granddaughter's face was more terrifying to him than the dreaded sight of Saiyuri herself; fear kept his mind sharp, and while he knew his chance to regain his honour was long since past, that didn't mean he couldn't regain something else. They were manipulating each other, playing the Game of Secrets; it was doubtful either of them truly realised how Bayushi both of them were in those hours. But for Keneng, those moments extended beyond the time she spent with her grandfather.

A close-knit family such as this one noticed the change in Keneng. From a pleasant and industrious member of the family, she became almost like a stranger to them. Her rising and falling emotions became more pronounced - more erratic and much less pleasant - and she began spouting pieces of forgotten superstition to justify anything. She seemed to forget the advice her mother had told her, grew angry when her brothers pulled simple pranks on her, and had nothing at all to say to her father anymore. She was distancing herself from everything.

"If I did not know my sister better, I would think a kitsune has taken her place."

Keneng looked up. She had been examining her hands, how course and scuffed they were, imagining them being pale and soft and delicate instead, when her sister came to sit beside her.

"Not a kitsune, just time," she replied, folding her hands in her lap and pretending to watch the ducks. "I am the same as I have always been, though now a woman instead of a child."

"I beg to differ." Keku tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and looked at her younger sister with concern. "We have all noticed this strange change that has come over you, little doe."

Keneng waved her switch, dismissively. "I'm fine."

The older sister shook her head. "We both know you are not." She paused a moment, then murmured, "You have been spending much time with grandfather. Is that why you are so distracted?"

Keneng gave her sister a sidelong glance, trying to damp down the sudden bout of suspicion. "Why would I be distracted?"

Keku sighed, and reached down to pet one of the closer ducks. "He has lived a long life, Keneng, but no-one can ignore death when it comes. You know grandfather's health has been failing for years now; whatever you're trying to do, you can't save him."

Keneng's mouth worked for a moment, trying to find the words, but she was suddenly speechless. _Grandfather is close to death. How had I forgotten? How did I not remember?_

Keku gave her younger sister a brief half-hug, a gesture Keneng was suddenly too numb to return. "It is good you are spending as much time with him as you are, Neng-chan. He may not be able to comprehend your words or remember your visits, but your duty to family is wonderful to see."

But Keneng's mind was buzzing, her thoughts in disarray. It had been only four evenings since her gempukku - tonight would be the fifth - and her grandfather had more to tell her. If he were to die, what would be lost? _Everything_, Keneng knew. _Everything would be gone. The chance to reclaim our destiny - MY destiny - would be gone_.

Keku was still talking, about how she was going to miss the family when she would be married in a month, about how Keneng should come and visit - her husband's lands were not too far from the family farm, after all - and about how she was going to have to teach Keneng how to cook so she would be able to be the big sister when Keku was gone. She stopped talking when her younger sister stood up, looking pale.

"Keneng? Are you alright?"

"I need to talk to grandfather," she slurred, making a small bow before dashing down the road, back towards the house.

The ducks scattered, alarmed by the swiftness of Keneng's passing; Keku picked up the dropped switch and herded them back into a group, watching her younger sister with concern.

She allowed herself a small smile. When she was going through her gempukku, hadn't she been terrified by the changes that came with her coming-of-age? It hadn't been fair to know that things could change so easily. Her little sister was clearly struggling with the same feelings she was, just in a different way. Keneng would learn to adapt, to accept the inevitability of change. It would take some time before the woman she was in heart and mind matched the woman in body and gempukku-name, but it would happen. This struggle, this attitude, would pass in time.

* * *

"There is no time!"

Her grandfather half-turned from her fury, muttering to himself as he pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

Keneng paced back and forth by the doorway, holding the mask in place. Her hands were shaking too badly to tie the ribbon. "I can't keep waiting, grandfather. Every moment I stay here, the future slips away. How am I supposed to claim our family's legacy?"

"_Bu je dao_," he muttered, his perfect usage of the peasant dialect betraying nothing about his past. He'd had to learn fast, but cowards tend to do very well in learning to hide.

"You can't not know! There has to be a way!" She turned to him, and he flinched back from the look of his sister's face. "Grandfather, please! You can't just tell me to claim my destiny, and then not tell me how!"

He shook his head; today, he was deep in the grip of madness, and not even Keneng's anger and urgency, or the sight of the mask, could help him grip the present tightly. "Destiny is… a strange thing… It isn't something… A face in the mirror needs to see itself." He rocked back and forth where he sat, cringing each time his granddaughter pivoted during her pacing.

"What does that even mean?"

He mumbled and chewed on his lip, rubbing his bony hands together.

Keneng gave an exasperated sigh, and lowered the mask as she went and knelt before he grandfather. "Please, you have to give me some clue. If it's a destiny I need to claim, it won't appear on my doorstep. I have to find…"

"It won't appear on your doorstep," her grandfather nodded, repeating her words. There was no wisdom in his repetition, just a broken mind trying to pick fragments of reality out of the soup his mind was swimming in.

But for Keneng, it was exactly what she needed to hear. It felt like a light had gone on in her mind. Of course. Of _course_ she wasn't going to find her destiny here. If her place was in the palaces of the wealthy, where life was easy and she would never have to toil again, then there was no sense waiting for destiny to find her here. She'd need to move further than this small house, than this small village. She'd have to chase that destiny down; she'd have to find it, and capture it in her own hands.

"Bless me, grandfather," she murmured, smiling at the old man. "Bless me, so I can claim the legacy we have lost."

"Claim-claim-claim. Little Impossible goes to take the world." His head bobbed like a puppet on a string as he patted her cheek, smiling. "So beautiful. You'll break a lot of hearts."

She smiled back, a smile that seemed more predatory than pleasant. "Yes, grandfather. I promise I will."


	3. San

**Author's Note**: All credit for the backdrop to the creators of the world of Legend of the Five Rings. If I ever do shortshots, you can bet your sweet bippy that Keneng will be the example for the Driven disadvantage.

* * *

"Father sent me to tell you to come back home."

Keneng pressed her lips together in a demure smile, flicking her eyes to her brother and away before it seemed like she was holding his gaze. A coquettish gesture, true, but it was not aimed at her brother; rather, her targets where the men drinking on the other side of the tavern. They caught the intended glance, and licked their lips.

"This isn't a place a good daughter should be working, Keneng."

"Did father tell you to say that?" Keneng wiped down the table with a dirty rag, loading up the tray she was carrying with empty sake cups and rice bowls. "Or are they your own words?"

"Does it matter?" Her eldest brother frowned, and followed her as she moved to the next table. "There was a time when you would have heard them, and respected them, and answered them without a moment's hesitation." He paused to glance over at the other side of the tavern, looking at the grinning customers with some concern.

"Everyone has to make their own way in the world, Kegui. You know I'm too small, and too weak, to do almost any of the chores you and the others can." She sighed, heavily, and shook her head. "I can't spend the rest of my life keeping ducks in line."

"You put yourself at risk for shame and dishonour." Kegui glanced towards the entrance of the tavern, as though imagining some dangerous patron entering with the intent of carrying off his sister. "What if someone mistakes you for a whore?"

That darkened her eyes, and caused her skin to go pale a moment. "No." She recovered with grace as she carried the tray back to the kitchen. "I am too well-protected; no-one would let that happen."

Kegui, following on his sister's heels, looked around the kitchen, recognising the faces of those who worked here. Most of them were cousins, or old friends; it was a small village, and everyone knew everyone else. Even the owner of this place was a friend of his father's; more than a friend, really, as they were brothers-in-law.

"I know you worry about me, Kegui," Keneng set down the tray then turned and took her brother's strong hands in her tiny slim fingers. "But I, too, was worried. Worried about being a burden on the family."

Kegui frowned and shook his head, amused. "You could never be a burden, little doe. Family is never a burden."

She sighed again. "A daughter who cannot cook, cannot sew, who cannot help where other daughters might? Who cannot help with the ploughing or planting or harvest, or fishing, or anything that would see our farm prosper?" She gripped her brother's hand tighter, almost in desperation. "I am not the kind of daughter to mirror or match big-sis-Keku. But I have found another way to help our family." She gestured with her hand to the kitchens, to the tavern in its entirety, as though that would be enough to end the conversation.

Kegui patted his sister's hand, sighing. "That may be, but we still worry, Keneng. You chose to live out here, away from the family home, where your brothers and father cannot make sure you are safe. You know Mother frets over the distance between here and the farm." He paused a moment. "She told me to tell you that she's planning on making steamed-duck rice again."

Keneng half-turned her head, hiding her expression from Kegui, then looked back to him again. "Follow me," she murmured, then turned and headed to a small storeroom at the rear of the kitchen. Kegui followed, and waited in the doorway, wondering why his sister wanted to avoid the eyes of those in the kitchen. It didn't take him long to understand why. When she returned, Keneng was holding in her hands a small linen bag that seemed near full to bursting. She hefted it in both hands before holding it out to her brother.

Kegui's eyes widened. The coin purse was so fat that there wasn't enough room for the coins to clink amongst each other; there was just the soft sound of them jostling amongst themselves, like a bed full of children turning over in their sleep.

"Here, take it." Keneng smiled as she proffered the coin purse again. "This is what I've made in a week. A _week_, Kegui!" Her face was radiant, enthusiastic.

Kegui opened the purse, and stared at the coins. There wasn't just zeni in here, but scattered through the copper were the gleam of silvery bu. He held in his hand as much money as the family farm could make over the course of a year.

"A _week_?" He stared at his younger sister, nearly open-mouthed.

She nodded, still grinning. "From pilgrims, travellers, and patrols of Unicorn bushi; any and all who stop here for a drink and a meal. And that's just a normal week, Kegui. In two weeks, the Festival of the Kami of the River will draw visitors from all over the realm through this place. All I need to do is smile, and thank them for having a drink here, and, well…" She gestured to the money purse again.

"I…" He shook his head, too amazed to form a sentence. "This is impressive, little doe." He gave her a wry smile. "Is this what you chose your gempukku name for? That it would be _possible_ for you to get a lot of _bu_?"

"_Possibly_," she said with a smile, the kind of smile that would maybe break a heart. But it vanished quickly. "Please, Kegui." Keneng put her hands together, beseeching her brother. "Just take that to father, and let him know that not only am I looking for my own path in life, but that I am being rewarded by the Fortunes for my hard work. Let mother know I am safe and that no-one will harm me as long as I am here, under the roof of a business run by our extended family. Let my brothers and sisters know that I am never too far away to visit. And let grandfather know I… that I am doing as he asked of me."

Kegui smiled faintly at his sister, at the earnestness in her expression - missing, entirely, the way her eyes darkened for a moment as she spoke of her grandfather - then chuckled and patted her on the head. "Alright. Seeing as you're so set on this path… I'll pray for your success." He chuckled again as he put the heavy coin purse somewhere safe. "And don't forget to come back to the house sometime, so mother can make steamed-duck rice for you. Alright?"

"Alright, big brother. I'll remember." She bowed, once again hiding her expression. Before her gempukku, it might have been delight; now, it was disgust. Steamed-duck rice had been her favourite food, until only recently, when she'd learned that outside Unicorn lands, people survived on a diet of mostly rice and fish. She'd been shocked to know she'd been eating like a barbarian all her life, and had sworn that from now on she would not eat anything that would be unfit for the table of a noble.

Once her brother was gone, Keneng rubbed her hands together, face blank and stoic. In years, months, weeks past, she would have shrank from even the mere thought of doing what she had just done. But now that she had a destiny, lying to her brother and bribing her entire family into silence and obedience seemed like nothing at all. There were no pangs of conscience, no remorse or shame.

She didn't even spare another single thought on her family, now that it was done. She just went right back to work. There were drinks to serve, smiles to fake, and bulging purses of coin to pick through while their owners were distracted by her pretty, pretty face.

* * *

Before the visitors for the festival began to arrive, the entertainers came. Musicians, fire-eaters, jugglers, singers, dancers, actors… _Eta_. But Keneng, far from being repulsed by them, found them fascinating. They paid for their drinks and meals in zeni, and if they were not given the worst tables in the tavern they were turned away, but that did not stop Keneng from seeking them out, to hear whatever stories and anecdotes they had to share.

And for a pretty face and an eager, seeking heart, there were stories a-plenty. Stories of making high-ranking nobles laugh, cry, stare in childish wonder at the tricks and skills of the entertainers. Gossip about fashion and fancy, of what was in favour, and what was out. Matter-of-fact explanations of why one does not whistle at night, or wear green on the first day of the month, or how a prayer to the Fortune of Romantic Love could make a performance much more appealing to an audience, and other like superstitions. Rumours of skilled artisans from the noble echelons of society who put the common entertainer to shame, yet elevated their art to a new level of appreciation.

Of the latter, Keneng's attention was speared by the news of a young Kakita, only a few years her senior. Like all Crane, he excelled not only in the courtly arts and the skills of bushido, but he was an artist. A dancer. From the sighs and murmurs of the entertainers sharing the tale, Keneng imagined the young man, seeing his famed beauty, grace, and elegance in her mind's eye. And she blushed to imagine him smiling at her from across the room.

From then on, Keneng's head was filled with Cranes. Her destiny was still the courts - for where else were the graceful Kakita and the beautiful Doji more prevalent? - but no longer were the halls in her mind's eye close and filled with shadows and smoke. Now, there were silken screens, artfully-decorated scrolls, kimonos and robes with patterns that were so detailed and intricate they might have been woven by the Fortunes of Art and Beauty, and shafts of golden sunlight in which these treasures could be better admired.

But as much as her goal was certain, the means of reaching it still eluded her. She continued to work as she had always done, serving drinks and flirting with the customers, picking through their pockets and purses while they were distracted, and building a small pile of silver to keep herself pleased, but the discontent kept gnawing at her. The stories and superstitions and small-talk of the entertainers kept her from losing her temper or giving in to despair, but she knew she needed to find some answers, and soon.

An answer came sooner than she could have ever anticipated.

Drawn to the approaching festival, like the entertainers, came the poets. Whereas the _eta_ had to content themselves with what shelter they could beg or scrape together, the poets were welcomed with open arms. They were even asked - pleaded with, even - to perform within the village. While many were taken to the houses of the magistrates and the councilmen, a few opted to stay in the tavern, and performed there.

They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but the particular performance of that day was hardly kind to the original. Keneng barely paid attention to the man as he read through the scroll he had in his hands. His diction was terrible, and those dramatic pauses detracted from what was being said. Still, she could feel the words creeping up on her, breathing in her ear, setting her heart to fluttering. Though a novice was reading it, it was clearly a master who had written this poem.

She gave up serving drinks, instead hugging her empty tray and leaning against the back wall. She ignored the speaker, and instead drank in the words, the poem, the story that was being read. It was the song of a samurai, loyal to his duties but seeking something more. She was held spellbound, not by the reader or by the reading, but by what was being read.

_Loyal to one's path, a samurai does his duty; I follow bushido with all my heart._

_Honest and steadfast, unchanging; yet one request I bring to you, Love; a new daimyo to serve; a woman placed in my path; to command me, that I may bow before her. _

_Love creates perfection; bring a woman crafted by Love, so I may be her servant._

_Her words will be my orders; her whim my duty; at her glance I would fall on my sword._

_As dutiful to bushido; I place everything I am; at the feet of Love's daimyo._

_Let this samurai be bound, in Love's name and at Love's grace, to this woman; there will be no samurai truer in his duty as I am to her. _

Keneng took to chewing on her lip to keep from letting sighs escape, though she couldn't stop the blush from rising on her cheeks. And in her mind grew a new vision, painted with each stroke of the words the poet was reading. She could not only see her destiny, but now it was close enough that she could reach out and touch it.

_Oh yes. Oh __yes__…_

She would make herself into this image of perfection; she would be the commanding daimyo of Love. She would forge herself into the woman that poets would write epics and plays about, and she would command them all. There was no doubting it now: she would be an artist. She would be a dancer so skilled, she would gain the attention of the Crane she hungered for. The red and black of her many-layered silk kimono would be so very striking in a court of white and blue.

Keneng closed her eyes and breathed a short hot sigh as she imagined the black of her hair flowing across a pillow, mingling with the pure white tresses of a handsome Crane…

"Will the Fortunes bless you as they have blessed the poet?"

Keneng jumped, startled out of her reverie by the voice.

The middle-aged woman smiled benignly back, her crows-feet deepening with amusement. "Five zeni for your future, child, and not a word false will you hear from me."

Keneng couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "Five?" She may have had a large collection of silver hidden for herself, but she had known poverty, and seen the way rice cost more and more with every passing year. Five zeni was exorbitant for one who saw a lack of wealth as a curse.

"_Dui_. A lucky number," the fortune-teller kept smiling. "Normally, I would ask eight, but I can see something different about you, little one." She tilted her head. "Oh, I am mistaken. You are no child. You had your gempukku recently, _dui bu dui_? Indeed, I see your name is chosen wisely, with a depth to it thou couldst barely understand."

Keneng frowned thoughtfully. The way this woman kept smiling, with her archaic speech speckled with tones and words of peasant dialect, made her a puzzle. Still, a fortune was a fortune. Sparing only one more glance to the poet - who had moved on to another piece of high literature to mangle his way through - Keneng pulled out five zeni from where they were placed in her heavy sleeves.

The copper coins vanished. "Give me your hand."

Keneng held out both her hands, ruefully wishing they were as pale as they were in her daydreams.

"Hrm." The middle-aged woman fixed Keneng with her gaze, bemused and serious at the same time. "I only asked for one of your hands, yet you have given me both. This tells me you are either not very good at doing what people ask of you… or that you intend to seize your destiny with both hands."

With her cheeks still pink from the sweet whispers of the poetry, it would not be hard for her face to redden in anger and shame. Yet she did not blush - she stared the fortune-teller down, waiting for the promised glimpse into her future. _What will his name be, I wonder? Will he be a Kakita, or a Doji? How will I know I am crossing his path? What should I do to prove myself as much of an artist as he? _Keneng waited impatiently for the fortune-teller to peer over and interpret the lines of her palms, watching the woman's face for any kind of clue as to what to expect. But the woman's face was inscrutable.

Eventually, though, the woman smiled, and took hold of Keneng's wrist, one in each of her hands. Keneng wanted to recoil from the woman's touch: one of her hands was cold and clammy, while the other was warm and unnervingly familiar. But she steeled herself to endure it.

"Two paths, two possible futures, both stemming from one destiny." The fortune-teller shook her head, her smile fading for a moment, the jade beads in her hair gently clattering together. She lifted Keneng's hands, one after the other. "You will have a life of wealth and ease, or a life of happiness." She repeated the gesture with Keneng's hands, indicating the different paths, then smiled again. "An interesting fortune, _dui bu dui_?"

Keneng took her hands back, her pretty face marred by a confused frown. The fortune-teller just bowed in reply to all the unasked questions.

A ruckus at the other end of the tavern distracted her, as an eta started loudly complaining at the poet's inability to perform the poetry as it had been written. Keneng turned her head for a moment, distracted, and then looked back. The fortune-teller was gone.

Keneng only let her frown deepen for a second before she dismissed the woman entirely, from thought and from memory. She had work to do, and much of it. The festival was in just over a week, and she no longer had the time to waste serving drinks and flirting with customers. There was no time to trouble herself over riddles. Not when destiny was calling, and closer than ever.


	4. Shi

**Author's note**: All credit to L5R... and also much loves to Phe. Warning - thar be fluffiness ahead.

* * *

The tavern was busy, busier than normal. The stables were full of Unicorn horses and Empire ponies, and the tavern itself was even fuller, crowded with people from all walks of life who had come to enjoy the festival. There was plenty of sake, plenty of food, plenty of laughter and good humour, and plenty of people to admire the debut of an artisan.

Keneng slipped in the back of the tavern, keeping herself as unseen as she could from the crowds and from her fellow workers. She didn't have time to be lectured to today; she may have shirked her duties in the past week or so, but the money she'd garner from her performance would be more than enough to negate a lecture or a punishment. She was certain of it.

She took only a moment to adjust her kimono, smoothing down the creases and folds that had appeared from her run across the fields. She'd needed a private place to practice, and a small shed near a fallow vegetable field was good enough space. She'd muddied her socks, twisted her ankle twice, and nearly missed meals on account of being late back to work, hardships that had caused her to struggle. Not once did she weaken, though, despite all obstacles. But tonight was the ultimate test. Tonight, she'd prove to others what she already knew herself: that she knew her destiny, and where it would take her.

Keneng paused in the wings of the tavern's small stage, resisting the temptation to peer around and look at her audience. She'd see them soon enough, and she'd see them all adoring her. She took a deep breath, then looked at the porcelain mask she held tightly in her hand. Grandfather wouldn't miss it. She'd taken it from his room while he was sleeping, and left the box latched and closed in the drawer. It was his gift to her, after all. She had every right to it, whenever she needed it, despite the fact she'd sworn it would never leave the upstairs room.

Gempukku mask, gempukku kimono. A perfect combination to claim her destiny. There was a faint smirk on her face, one that disappeared behind the embrace of silk and porcelain. She bound the ribbons tight, shook her hair out to hide the ties, smoothed the kimono down once more… then stepped out onto the stage.

A few faces looked her way at first as she moved her way across the polished floorboards. She ignored them - she didn't want a few, she wanted them all - and began to dance. She focused on the steps and gestures, closing her eyes as she concentrated. _I will dance here all night if need be, until everyone in this place is awed and silent…_

But she felt the prickle of unease between her shoulder-blades as she continued to bob and sway and step through the dance she'd put together. Eventually, she risked opening her eyes, and saw most of the tavern were indeed looking her way. But the dull roaring sound seemed out of place.

Keneng kept dancing, even as the prickle of unease became an incomprehensible blush as more and more people turned and looked her way. The dull roaring noise got louder, more distinct. She took one more step, waving both arms above her head, turning and settling into a pose that faced the opposite direction, before she could properly identify what that sound was.

Laughter.

Suddenly she realised what she looked like. A scruffy peasant girl in a cheap cotton kimono, clumsily shuffling her way through a mockery of a dance… no, not a dance, an ugly parody of grace and elegance and artistry. Small wonder everyone was laughing: she was nothing but a clown.

Keneng froze in the dance, gasping as the realisation crashed down on her. She shook, she blushed, she felt ill to her stomach. She shut her eyes again, and they felt hot and liquid. When she opened her eyes again, her vision was constricted. The world was shrinking away from her, through the eye-holes in the mask.

Everything was distorted. Amused laughter became mocking. Playful comments became jeering and unkind. The stares of those in the audience became hard like stones, stones which pelted against her skin and bruised her, broke her.

Keneng screwed her eyes tight and fled the stage, chased by the sounds of the audience that in no way adored her, shaking as she fought to hold back the shame.

* * *

She let herself into the first empty room she found. It didn't matter to her whose room it was; she barely saw anything through her mask now. Furious with embarrassment, she knelt and started pulling at the mask, trying to tear it from her face. The ribbons held fast, and she gasped out small sobs as she had to slow down, undoing each knot carefully. By the time she was done, both her face and the silk lining of the mask were wet with her own tears; the red of the silk matched, likewise, the redness of her own embarrassed cheeks.

When she turned the porcelain to face her, it seemed to Keneng that the perfect serene face was mocking her. Calm and unmoved by her tears and her embarrassment, it offered no comfort, no advice. Just observed her with those hollow eyes.

_Stop mocking me!_ She wanted to shout at it, though all she could do was sob and shake. Keneng could feel the shame rotting her bones, poisoning every daydream in her mind, and she knew she would carry that moment with her for every day of her life. The laughter and jeering and unkind eyes - all proof of her failure - would haunt her until the day she died. And the mask just stared back at her, dispassionately.

It was a bitter mirror she was looking into, a cruel thing she'd placed all her hope into. She may have dreamed big, and she may have the blood of a noble Bayushi in her veins. But what did that matter? Who was she but a peasant, the daughter of a peasant, the sister of peasants, a herder of ducks and a sifter of rice, and now? Now she was a fool. She had tried to make herself something beyond her horoscope, and now she was paying for it. Paying for it, and with nothing to show in return.

A wave of anger rose up in her like nausea. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have dared to dream so impossibly? If dreams had to break, then let them break completely, so she could pretend that the shame was not destroying her as it was. Between sobs, Keneng took the mask in one hand and lifted it above her head, ready to cast it down with such force that the pieces would scatter all over the room.

But a hand caught her wrist.

She choked through the sob, startled, but was unable to raise her head to see who it was who had stopped her. It was a strong hand, but gentle; this was not a hand that was here to punish her for her sins. Still, there was a witness to her shame, and she could not bear to look up to see just who it was.

"Please… Don't break it."

She closed her eyes as she was spoken to, and gave a small, broken sob.

The voice continued, softly. "I'll let you go if you promise not to break it. _Ne_?"

Why did it matter? She could never wear it again. It was a poisonous face that had inspired her self-inflicted ruin. But as it seemed to be important to this visitor that it was not broken, Keneng gave a small nod amidst the sobbing of her breaths, and the hand gently released her. She set the mask down on the floor, away from her, reddening and tearing up from embarrassment all over again.

And she waited. For the criticism. For the joke. For the disapproval. It didn't come. Whoever stood behind her was just waiting, saying nothing. She could feel his patience on the back of her head. Eventually, it was enough for the tears to slow, and her breathing to become a little more measured.

Eventually, Keneng couldn't stand the silence any more. "I am sorry." She nursed her wrist in her lap, staring down at it, unable to lift her eyes. "My… 'performance'… It must have been terrible to see."

A soft breath of denial: not a laugh, not a sigh. "What was it that you think that I saw?"

Keneng closed her eyes, fresh tears spilling free. "An ungainly _eta_ child who danced like a three-legged ox." Her next few breaths were sobs. _Eta_. That horrible, heavily-laden term. No true artist or entertainer would ever be found in that caste. But Keneng's failure had ensured that was the only place _she_ would ever be.

Her visitor was silent for a moment, then spoke in that same soft voice. "I did not see that. I did not see that at all. What I saw was a young woman with a heart so passionate it burned like a new star. A heart that seeks the art of the dance in the same way the flowers seek the sun."

Keneng started again, touched by the poetry of his words that whispered in her ear. She turned, at last, to look up at who was speaking. She took in the sight of him in an instant, because it felt like the sight of him was burned into her memory.

He wore the coarse clothes of a peasant farmer, brown and off-white, but the cut and the clothes he wore were those of a bushi. Indeed, there was a mon over his heart, the symbol of a bird in flight. His arms were strong, muscled from hard work, but his hands, for all their largeness and strength, seemed soft; his grip on her wrist before proved his strength and his gentleness, his will and his restraint. A katana was at his waist, but it was different to the ones worn by the Unicorn patrols; it seemed finer, stronger, more balanced from where it rested. His hair was bound in a high ponytail, and his face was honest and open and… kind.

Keneng hadn't expected to see kindness in the midst of all her shame, but there it was. And she would never forget it.

As their eyes met, he froze, seemingly going as rigid as a stone as he stared at her. He did not break her gaze - indeed, it seemed like he _could_ not. A long moment stretched out. Then, he breathed deep, taking in the air through his nose like the prelude to a long sigh. But he made no sound as he slowly let the breath out again.

When the breath was freed, he bowed from the waist, still not taking his eyes from her. "I am Suzume Conmei, of the Sparrow clan."

Keneng, embarrassed anew, tried to turn her face away. "Y… you are far too generous in your assessment of me, Suzume-sama…"

The Sparrow knelt in front of her, shaking his sleeves over his hands, and lightly dabbed at the tears. Keneng was too startled to pull away, or turn her head, or do anything. She just sat, silent, as the bushi wiped the tears from her face. His kind expression never faltered…until the end, when he gave a small smile.

"A face as beautiful as yours should not be marred with tears." The Sparrow folded his hands across his knees, remaining kneeling in front of her. "And please, there is no need for 'sama'. You may call me Conmei." His smile deepened, spreading small creases of genuine joy by the sides of his eyes. "And what may I call you?"

She could only dip her head into a bow, a bow that sent her dark hair cascading over her face in a way that only half-hid how flustered she felt. "Bu Keneng."

He laughed, and it was a pleasant sound. "Is it your name is impossible? Or is your name Impossible? Or is it, Possibly, a mystery and a riddle, one you have set before the world to be solved? No? Hrm. It is quite strange to see a peasant with a family name. Oh, no, that cannot be right… especially if it is Not a family name."

His cheerfulness was hard not to share, and she managed a small sob-laugh of her own. It had felt like the last of her sobs, and she was pleased to smile for a moment. But even the Sparrow's jokes and wordplay could not cheer her up completely. Not when the shame still burdened her. She turned her head and sighed, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ears.

The Sparrow was serious too, though still as kind as ever. "Perhaps the riddle lies elsewhere. You call yourself Impossible… but I think tonight you faced something true to your name."

"And I failed." She dipped her head, thinking she would start crying again, though no more tears came. It was just melancholy now that washed over her. "It was impossible for me to dream I could be…" She closed her eyes, letting out a long, sad breath. "… well, I will not dream impossibly again. I have learned my lesson."

The Sparrow shook his head, looking at her in such sympathy. "Do not say that, Keneng. Do not throw aside your dreams so quickly, not when there is so much left to learn." He paused a moment, and that smile reached his eyes once more. "Let me be your teacher."

"You?" Keneng stared, startled for the third time by this stranger. "What would a Sparrow know about art?" Her hands clapped over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror; disappointment had given her a bitter tongue. And to insult a Sparrow?

But he just smiled. "I am a poet, Keneng. And I know that all art is one. Poetry, music, dance, acting, ikebana, painting… Nothing stands alone. Each form of art cannot exist without the other. To know one is to know the beginnings of all of them..."

"You…" She stared a moment, almost in disbelief. "You can teach me how to dance?"

"Not just 'how to dance'," he said, reaching out and putting his hand gently on hers. "But to become a skilled artisan. A master of the art of the dance." He made a small bow, withdrawing his hand - slowly, reluctantly - then added in a low voice, "If you will have me as your teacher, Keneng, it would be an honour to assist you in reaching the heights of the art."

The disappointment and shame was forgotten in a heartbeat, and the fire of her destiny resurged through her veins. What was this night but a momentary setback? One failure on the road had opened a door to her future. She wouldn't gain anything in this village, she'd known that. To be taught by another would give her access to the world of the artisan… and, eventually, to the attention of the Kakita and the Doji.

"Yes. Yes, please. Please! Teach me!"

The Sparrow smiled at the way her eyes were lit up. "Well, how can I refuse the pleas of such an eager student?" He laughed, then sobered a little. "Do you have anything you need to claim? Any belongings? Any family to farewell?"

"No," the word was out of her mouth before he'd even finished speaking; she had spoken before he had even asked of her family. Too late, she realised she should say goodbye. But would a chance like this ever come again if she turned aside now? No. No, she had nothing to go back to. All she had worth taking with her was with her right now. Destiny was waiting, and it would not wait long. She could only go forward from here.

The Sparrow smiled, though a little sadly. It was in pity, maybe, that she had no family. "Then we shall leave tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Now."

"_Now_?"

He laughed. "What a pleasant echo I have today." The Sparrow got to his feet, holding his hands down to her, to assist her to her feet. But she was already standing, almost jumping from foot to foot in her eagerness to be off. "Do not forget your mask, Keneng."

She was following him as he turned and left the room, but at his words she paused and looked back. The bone-white face stared up at her from the ground, the red silk ribbons snaking out on the floor in casual disarray. She stared at it for a few moments, then quickly knelt and scooped it up in one hand.

Already, the silk lining was dry. It still seemed weighty with legacy, though now she knew her shame was also here.

"I will never be seen bare in public again," Keneng murmured, a darkness creeping into her eyes as she raised the mask and tied it in place. "Until I have achieved the impossible, I will show my face to no-one." As on the night of her gempukku, the words were a spell, a noose, but she barely noticed. Sometimes even irony could be overpowered, should destiny be strong enough.

She exited the building the same was she came in: sneaking, unseen and unnoticed. The Sparrow was outside, leading a short, stocky and altogether unpleasant-looking pony out of the stables. The beast looked nothing like the noble horses of the Unicorn, that she was used to seeing. This pony looked almost… evil. The Sparrow looked bemused to see Keneng wearing the mask, but smiled to see her recoil and point.

"What is that thing?"

"This is Takumashii. He is a pony from the lands of the Sparrow, and my faithful travel companion."

The pony fixed Keneng with baleful eyes, and snapped at the air, causing her to shrink back in fear.

"No, Takumashii," the Sparrow tugged on the reins, shaking a finger at the belligerent pony, who snorted and almost seemed to roll his eyes. "No. Listen to me. Keneng is to be my student, and there will be no biting, and no stepping on her feet."

"It bites?" Keneng's voice rose an octave.

But the Sparrow just smiled. "No. He won't. He listens to his master's voice." To prove this point, the pony just made a small sigh, shook its mane, and turned to face the distance demurely. The Sparrow smiled, patted the pony's side, then held out his hand to Keneng to help her up on the saddle.

Something inside her quailed at the last minute, between the pony's sudden good behaviour and the way the Sparrow's face was almost glowing as he looked on her. "I…" She blushed, not knowing why, and was glad the mask was between her and the Sparrow, so he couldn't see it. "I don't think I should sit… with you, Suzume-sama."

"Conmei," he said, gently correcting, his hand falling to his side. "And why?"

"I… I don't know," she said, giving an awkward shrug. "It is… I mean, I have only met you, and I…" She screwed shut her eyes. "It wouldn't be right for me to…"

"I understand." His voice was a whisper, and his smile, when she looked up at him, had the same soft quality. "But I fear you will fall if I cannot hold you."

"Then let me hold onto you," she said, showing a little boldness in this strange embarrassment.

Another strange stillness seemed to come over the Sparrow. He breathed deep as before, breathing out slow and silent, then nodded. "As you wish, Keneng."

With the stars shining overhead, the pony with its two passengers followed the road to the south, leaving Mura nisa Kawa Nemui behind. Keneng looked up at the stars, sitting side-saddle and resting her shoulder against the Sparrow's back. Never before had the stars seemed so bright, so clear. They were pointing her on, showing her the way. Less than one month since her gempukku, and she had already found a teacher? She'd reach her destiny in no time at this rate.

The jolting of the horse made her feel uneasy for a moment, and she hooked her fingers into the belt of his hakama. She heard the Sparrow take another deep breath, felt his posture straighten in his stillness, and smiled behind the mask without knowing why. Before he had even released the breath, Keneng rested her head against his back, closing her eyes to dream that the stars spelled out her name, and showed her moving in tandem with the most handsome dancer she could imagine.


	5. Go

**Disclaimer**: L5R isn't mine, but Keneng certainly is. When she allows me to make such a claim, of course.

**A/N**: Falling a little behind, so I decided to try and catch up with a slightly longer chapter. My thesis comes first, obviously, but I do need a creative distraction every now and then.

* * *

It was not a swift journey, a sudden arrival at a town like she'd expected. In fact, it took several days, most of it through empty countryside and quiet roads. The bog pony was left to browse untethered each night while the Sparrow set up camp. The Sparrow laid down a tatami for Keneng to rest on while he collected firewood and made dinner. Keneng found herself somewhat at a loss to know how to help at first, but after having her offered assistance refused a few times, she learned just to let the Sparrow potter around on his own. It was her first taste of idleness, and she found she rather enjoyed it.

On one of the evenings, while the Sparrow was stirring the rice, he asked, "Can you read?"

"Yes, of course. Well, a little. Some. A little bit…"

He looked over, a faint sad kind of smile on his face.

Keneng stared at the ground, embarrassed, and was once again glad her mask was in place so he couldn't see the shame pinking her cheeks. "No. No, I can't read."

The Sparrow stirred the rice again. "Then I will have to teach you."

She couldn't help but snort. "What has reading got to do with being able to dance?"

"All art is one," he said, slight admonishment in his tone due to the fact she seemed to have forgotten his previous explanation. She hadn't, and it rankled that he assumed she had.

"That may be the case," Keneng said evenly, "But I fail to see how reading will help me when I am on stage."

He gave the rice another stir, then sat back to hold her gaze. "There is more to the art of the dance than simply getting up on stage. For a beginner such as yourself, the most important of the processes would be a knowledge of history. History of the different styles and forms of the art of dance."

Behind the mask, she pulled a face. She had thought her own self-imposed training regime in the week leading up to her first attempt was harsh, but given how much of a failure she had been that night - a night she was doing very well forgetting even existed - she was willing to admit that maybe a harsher and more thorough training regime was necessary. Still, learning to read? That could take weeks. Months! Years, maybe! It was time she didn't feel she had.

It was annoying to realise that even though she was one step closer, it would still take time before she could be as perfect as she knew she would someday be.

"More importantly, though," the Sparrow continued, "You will need to learn how to breathe."

She shook her head, puzzled and bemused. "Breathing is a natural process. I would think that merely by being alive, I've been a successful student of 'breathing'."

"Forgive me," The Sparrow said, looking a little abashed at having to speak, "But I cannot hear you."

Keneng frowned behind her mask. "What do you mean? You're sitting right in front of me."

He nodded. "Yes, I can hear you from here. But your voice does not carry far through the gap in the mask." He traced a finger in the air in front of his lips, then folded his finger into a fist and closed his eyes for a second, breathing deep, as Keneng aped the gesture. "It... it would be difficult to hear you from the back of the room, or even at the foot of a stage, were you to speak as such."

"So, I should just SPEAK LOUDER?"

The Sparrow laughed, the laughter relaxing his shoulders. "It is not just a matter of volume," he said, rising to his feet, "It is also a matter of consistency. And of maintaining the true nature of the arts."

He took a stance, one foot in front of the other, half-turning away from her though his face was still in her direction. He raised both arms, slowly, a soft, flowing gesture, his hands rippling like leaves on a pond. He closed his eyes for a moment, and breathed deep through his nose. This time, however, he did not just breathe out slowly and silently. This time, he let the breath out in a sigh, an expulsion of air that seemed to drain everything else from him as well. Though his feet were still firmly on the ground, his whole body went limp, as though something inside him was crushed; his face spoke of pain, but it was a sweet melancholy kind of pain. Only his wrists remained where they had been a moment before, his fingertips now flicking slowly skywards.

Keneng watched, spellbound.

The Sparrow stood in that pose a moment longer, then breathed deep again; another sigh, and from his lips came a murmur that Keneng could hear as clearly as though he were whispering in her own ear, and yet knew that it would have been heard on the other side of the clearing in exactly the same manner.

"Clouds appear..."

His stance changed, his spine rolling to bring him to stand more upright, his face turning from her to gaze at the sky; one hand followed the motion, while the other swept in a wide, sweeping arc to come and rest at his side.

"And bring men rest..."  
He swivelled, raising both hands to chest level. The hand closest to his chest moved outwards, while the other swept itself inwards, rising towards his face.

"From staring..."

He half-bowed, and both hands swept down and around behind his head.

"At the moon."

The Sparrow halted, swaying slightly, then took another deep breath. Again, his body shook, trembling like a bamboo stalk in a soft breeze, and his hands and body hung limp. He closed his eyes, and another single shudder coursed through him.

"This technique is called the Breath of Benten."

Keneng realised she herself had not been breathing, and dipped her head to begin to do so again. She wondered why she felt so warm across the back of her neck.

Sparrow broke his pose as he bowed towards her. "If one can master the Breath of Benten, one can be on the way to mastering all the arts. All of them. In a single breath, one can capture the moon, the stars, the sea and the mountain; in a single breath, poetry becomes action, action becomes rhythm, rhythm becomes song."

"All art is one," Keneng murmured, clasping her hands together.

This time, the Sparrow seemed to hear her. "All art is one." He smiled, holding a hand out to her, to help her to his feet. "We will begin your training with the basics. Tonight, I will teach you how to breathe."

* * *

Keneng was in awe. She had thought the hub of her village, with its multiple stores and tea-houses and places of rest for pilgrims, was a big town. But it was a child-made model in comparison to Ryoko Owari. This was a city. A bustling city. They were still an hour's ride away and she could already imagine the crowds of people that would call that place home.

The Sparrow looked up at her, and must've been the insecurity and awe in her posture, because he smiled up at her in reassurance. He had, not that long before the city came into view, dismounted from the bog-pony, leaving Keneng to sit in the saddle by herself. She hadn't understood the gesture, but she appreciated not having to walk.

As they neared the city, the Sparrow cleared his throat. "When we reach the gate, I will need to speak to the magistrates. You will need papers to enter the city. But don't worry, I will take care of it, and it shouldn't take too long."

Keneng tilted her head, slightly concerned. "Papers? What kind of papers?"

The Sparrow looked amused, but had the good grace and manners not to tease. "Identification papers. A passport, of sorts, explaining who you are and why you are travelling with me."

"And... they'll just give you these papers?"

"Of course." His smile widened slightly. "No-one ever says no to a Sparrow."

"And why is that?"

He laughed softly. "Because we do have a tendency to wax poetic."

"You mean, you talk a lot."

"Actually, I would argue that our clan's reputation for loquaciousness and tenacity in conversation and debate is well-deserved."

She would have kept the banter going, or even rolled her eyes behind the mask, but already they were near the outskirts. A long line of peasants and outcastes snaked up the road, waiting for the single guard to let them pass. At the rate they were shuffling forward, it would be hours, perhaps even until the end of the day, before anyone of them got even close to being admitted.

The Sparrow ignored the line, walking Takumashii past the queue. Keneng tightened her grip on the bog-pony's saddle, doing her best not to stare at those they passed, and, at the same time, doing her best not to acknowledge the stares she received in return.

The city guard was looking over a slat of wood as the Sparrow approached, but handed it back to the merchant it belonged to. The merchant gave a small resigned sigh, but stepped back to prevent blocking the Sparrow's path. Takumashii bit the air, his teeth making a very noticeable and intimidating 'chomp', and the merchant's mule took an extra step back, just to be safe.

"Good day, Suzume-sama," the guard made a small bow.

The Sparrow bowed in return, and Keneng had to bite her tongue in impatience as he started small talk: the weather, local happenings, questions after different people's whereabouts... Didn't he realise how imperative it was to get into the city and get started on her training? The sooner that she got this learning-to-read business out of the way, the sooner she could become a dancer, one that would be famous throughout Rokugan.

It seemed a blessing when the conversation finally turned to the Sparrow's entrance into the city. "It is a perfect day for you to have come to Ryoko Owari, Suzume-sama."

"Yes, for myself, and this young woman."

"I'm his student," Keneng said.

The guard ignored her completely, as though she hadn't spoken at all. He stamped a single piece of paper with a red-inked chop and held it out. "Then I welcome you, and wish you a pleasant stay." The guard bowed respectfully, the Sparrow matched the bow as he accepted the paper, and Takumashii lead the way through the city gates.

Keneng said nothing, but there was a bitter lump caught in her throat. The Sparrow glanced up at her, and saw her expression through her clenched fists and tensed shoulders.

"The theatre of the Golden Pheasant is wonderful," he spoke calmly, soothingly. "I have performed there myself many times. The owner himself is a friend of mine, and would be more than happy to allow us to train there."

"He ignored me!" Keneng hissed through the slit in her mask, the sound giving the words more vehemence and anger than she'd anticipated. "I spoke, and that guard pretended he didn't even hear me! That I didn't exist!"

The Sparrow lifted a hand towards her, as though to console her with a brief touch, but the jostling of the crowd prevented him. "And I apologise. The height of the bamboo may increase with each day, but the flowers of the cherry blossom are seen for only a season."

Keneng shook her head, confused as well as unappeased by his words. "It's because I'm an _eta_, isn't it?"

"Do not refer to yourself like that," the Sparrow said firmly. "He was mistaken. He couldn't have known who you are, or who you will soon become. Forget about him."

But she couldn't forget. The shame of her first time on stage was nearly identical with this, the shame of being ignored, overlooked, dismissed. The indignity and hurt burned into her, a small fire-seed right at her very core.

_I am not an eta_, she told herself, clenching her jaw. _I am not._

* * *

The theatre was beautiful, bigger than how she'd imagined. But it was the smell of the building that really gave proof that this was no dream. It smelled of torches and incense, silk and makeup and perfume, and something else she couldn't identify, something that seemed to whisper 'look at me, let me be seen'. And she loved it. There was a performance on when they finally arrived, and the Sparrow was more than happy to view the show with her, leaving Takumashii with a nervous stablehand.

The performance was impeccable. It was a familiar story, of a samurai hero and the way he was torn between his duty and his love for a poor but virtuous woman. Keneng drank everything in; not just the story, but the costumes, the speeches, the poses, the dances, the props, the backdrops, the way the actors held themselves, and how everything fit together in utter perfection. It seemed to end all too soon, and yet everything lived on in vivid colour and sound in her memory.

Her dreams expanded, taking a new scope, and she saw herself in the spotlight, dressed in the many-layered regal kimono of the princess, the elegant yet simple robe of the priestess, the simple garb of the virtuous woman, and the glamour and otherworldly attire of the Fortune. All around her wove the clouds of that incense: the addictive scent of fame. It was then that Keneng knew she wasn't just going to be a dancer. No, she was going to be an actress.

The Sparrow gave her an amused look, after she'd expressed this desire to him, when the audience was leaving. "An actress?"

She nodded emphatically. "_Dui_."

He smiled again. "But there are no women in the theatre, Keneng. Only _onnagata_."

"Then I will be not only the first female actor, but also the greatest."

He chuckled, and would have replied, but a voice called his name, and he excused himself to go over and speak to a man whom Keneng assumed was an old friend. She remained seated on the cushion, staring at the empty stage, filling the sight of it with her fantasies.

How many people in the city would come and see these shows? Hundreds; thousands. Among them, perhaps a Crane in disguise, seeking quietude and simplicity. And here, he would sit and watch, and be in awe as this young and beautiful masked woman crossed the stage. He would fall instantly, charmed by both her exotic air of mystery and her rustic humility, and thus would begin a whirlwind of passion, a romance which would be written about for years to come, and performed and sung about for generations afterwards as a story in its own right...

Keneng was jolted out of her reverie by the sound of a woodwind. Her eyes flicked from the stage, and saw the musicians who had been performing during the play. The shakuhachi player was practicing, a small part of the song he had played during the performance, and his eyes met hers over the distance.

She had found while working in the tavern of her hometown that a simple smile or a bold wink across a crowded room could cause even the most dignified of bushi to lose their composure. But this was the first time anyone had ever practiced such a gesture on her.

Keneng felt a soft giggle build in her throat, and ducked her head to try and hide the blush that bloomed behind the mask, forgetting that it wasn't necessary to do so. The shakuhachi player grinned, and made a small bow in her direction, before resuming his practice.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that the musician wasn't taking his eyes off her. Even as Keneng followed the Sparrow out of the room, the shakuhachi player still found a way to keep his gaze on her, and give one last wink before the door slid shut between them.


End file.
